Carmichael's Find
by saturdayslump
Summary: The BAU team help a young agent solve a string of homicides and disappearances in North Carolina. The title sucks. There is no shipping.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! This is the first CM fic I've written and only the second story I've ever written, so please be gentle with me. But definitely read and review! I've got a lot to learn, and your comments will help refine my writing... unless you're a total asshole, in which case you can piss off.**

**An extra special thanks to the absolutely AMAZING Tigerlily888. She's been a huge support during this process, keeping me sane and offering her excellent beta services. She's also a great writer (you should check out her work!), and has been incredibly generous in offering her thoughts and ideas.**

**Also, in case you were wondering, I don't own _Criminal Minds_. If you do, please message me. There are some things we need to talk about. But I do own this fic.**

**Chapter 1**

They were all celebrating. The end of an op, bad guys in jail, confessions made all around. For the first time since being assigned to the unit, she actually felt as if she was a part of it. It hadn't helped that she'd spent over a year undercover in close company with a sadistic drug dealer. But her information has been vital to the resolution of the case, and her handler beamed at her like a proud dad. The happiness didn't last long.

"Carmichael! Get your ass in here now!" yelled her unit chief as he stood in the doorway of his office. The man was genuinely an ass, but he usually tried to cover it up with some good ole boy geniality. The fact that he didn't bother meant she was in some serious shit. Silence reigned as she made her way into his office.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out? Consider yourself suspended for insubordination. Get the hell out of my bullpen."

She didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "When will they be here?"

"That isn't your concern, Carmichael. Get out."

Special Agent Kendall Carmichael exited her unit chief's office without another word. When she stopped at her desk to collect her bag and a few personal items and files, her colleague and handler, Web Marston, stepped up to her.

"What the hell was thatabout?"

"Remember that thing you told me not to do? I did it anyway."

"Dammit, Mike! I told you not to do this. I told you that Peterson would shit a break."

"I know, Web. But you and I both know that Peterson doesn't have a damn clue what he's doing. Too many women have died already. We need the BAU's help. They're trained for this. It's what they do."

"You're trained for it too. You could-"

"I'm not in the BAU, Web. I don't have their experience."

"You know Peterson will never sign off on that transfer request now, right? He'll keep you here out of spite and try to run you out of the Bureau."

"I'm not quitting and he doesn't have any basis to fire me."

"Jesus. OK. When do they get here?"

"He won't tell me, but my guess is soon. They never wait long once they get called in. I've got to go."

"I'll keep you informed."

"Thanks, Web."

"OK, everyone. This is Research Triangle in North Carolina," Penelope Garcia said as a map of the area flashed on the screen behind her. "In the last five years, the bodies of twelve young women between the ages of 23-32 have been found in the surrounding area. Until recently, the deaths hadn't been linked together." The images of the twelve victims flashed on the screen in varying stages of decomposition.

"What makes anyone think they're connected now?" JJ asked.

"According to the informing agent, the bodies have similar patterns of torture and all were strangled or suffocated in some way."

"Why weren't they link before, Garcia?" asked Morgan. "The torture patterns seem like they would have been an indicator."

Hotch fielded that question, "The bodies have been disposed of in a variety of ways, in different areas of a number of surrounding counties. Some of the bodies were buried or otherwise mutilated, so the physical damage wasn't apparent at the time they were discovered. Additionally, some of these victims were only recently found, despite having disappeared years ago. They appear to have been kept alive, repeatedly raped and tortured before being killed."

"Sounds like a sadist," commented Rossi.

"We'll know more when we get to North Carolina. Wheels up in an hour."

There's one more thing," interjected Penelope. "You all need to be aware that there's going to be Bureau politics to deal with on this."

Hotch cocked his head at her while the rest of the team froze in the process of leaving the room. None of them cared for Bureau politics, and only three of them had the training, experience or skill to deal with them. But Hotch, JJ, and Emily wouldn't put up with anything interfering in a case.

"What do you mean, Penelope?" Hotch asked quietly.

"Sir, the agent who brought this to our attention has been suspended."

"Who is the informing agent?"

"Kendall Carmichael."

Rossi interrupted, "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Carmichael… she's the one from the class we taught at the Academy on profiling, Dave. The one with all the questions," Emily reminded him. She had a vague recollection of the young woman, but definitely remembered being peppered with smart questions during and after the lecture three years before.

"Right. I remember now. Hotch, we told you about her right after that class, that she was someone to keep our eye on as an agent who might be a good addition to the BAU."

"I remember. She's also applied for the open pool agent position here. Her application is sitting on my desk."

"Why haven't you approved it?" Reid asked. He hated politics and wasn't looking forward to this.

"Because," Hotch explained, "her unit chief hasn't signed the transfer paperwork."

Rossi sighed, "Well, he's certainly not going to be happy with her now."

"I'll deal with him. Let's get moving."

Hotch knew that on a typical case, he would have given assignments out on the plane, divvyed up the dump sites, witness interviews, reviewing victimology, etc. But this wasn't a typical case and he was already a bit distracted. He had ended his fledgling relationship with Beth several days before and was still unsettled by the vitriol she had spewed at him. A couple of work out dates and lunches had not seemed such a big commitment to him, but Beth had apparently read more into their few outings together. He still had a headache from the sobbing phone call he'd had with her. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, wishing North Carolina wasn't going to be the mess he could already see coming.

Emily glanced at her supervisor when she heard him sigh. It wasn't like Hotch. He never appeared anything less than professional, keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. But now he seemed tired and stressed. Definitely still attractive, but his face seemed drawn and tight with tension, and the lines in his forehead were deeper. She hoped she wasn't the cause of his additional stress. Her road back to the team had hurt everyone and she knew he'd borne the brunt of everyone's anger. Whatever was going on, Emily prayed that it wasn't another burden she'd laid on his shoulders. She owed him too much as it was.

The field office in Raleigh was tidy and appropriately boring and characterless. After displaying their credentials, the team was directed to a bank of elevators where they could ride to the fifth floor and Unit Chief Donovan Peterson's office. As they boarded the elevator, Emily saw the security guard pick up the phone and glance their way, quickly looking away when his eyes met hers.

When the doors closed, Emily announced, "Peterson knows we're here. Security just filled him in."

"Good," replied Hotch. "We can get the pissing contest out of the way first."

Dave glanced at Emily, while Reid, Morgan and JJ exchanged similar looks. No matter how impassive he seemed, it was evident to his team that Hotch was pissed. This was going to be interesting.

Peterson wasn't waiting for them when they exited the elevator on the fifth floor. But Hotch hadn't expected him to be there. Peterson would wait for Hotch to come to him. Instead, Web Marston, an older agent with friendly blue eyes and laugh lines greeted them.

"Agent Hotchner, it's nice to meet you and your team," he said, offering his hand to the obvious leader of the group.

"Thank you. This is my team, Agents Dave Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, and Dr. Spencer Reid. I believe you've also spoken with our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia." Agent Marston shook hands with each member of the team, except Reid, who merely smiled and offered a wave before his hands back into his pockets.

"Welcome. Ms. Garcia gave me some idea of what you'd need. If you'll come this way, we've got a conference room set up for your use."

"Thank you, Agent Marston."

"Please, call me Web."

"Alright. I need to speak with Chief Peterson."

Web paused, thinking through his response. "Let's go into the conference room." When the whole team had entered, Web shut the door behind them, blocking out any prying eyes or ears. "Agent Hotchner, I don't know you, but I know your and your team's reputation. Chief Peterson is not your friend. He'll see you as a competitor. And he's already supremely pissed that you're here and stomping all over what he sees as his territory."

Hotch sized up the older agent. He knew from his file that Web Marston was a good agent. He worked hard and had no aspirations to a desk. It was one of the reasons Peterson could work with him for any length of time.

"I understand your concern and appreciate the warning. But Peterson is going to have to deal with our presence. We have a job to do, and it outweighs any concerns he might have about maintaining his authority here."

"I understand that. I'm just asking that you tread carefully for Mike's sake."

"Mike?"

"Oh, sorry, Agent Carmichael. She risked a hell of a lot to get you down here. And Peterson was already prepared to offer her as a sacrificial lamb before this happened."

"I have no intention of damaging Agent Carmichael's career. I do need to speak with her though. I'll need her case notes, impressions, theories, anything she's collected regarding this case."

"That's going to be a bit difficult, Agent Hotchner."

"Why?"

"Because Peterson suspended her for insubordination when he learned that y'all were coming here. He had explicitly instructed her not to contact the BAU about this case. For any reason."

The team had silently been observing the exchange between their Unit Chief and Web, but Emily suddenly interrupted the conversation. "Are you saying that Peterson suspended her because she wanted us here? That he knew what was going on?"

Web noticed the angry spark in her eyes and feared the impending explosion at his next words. "Yes, ma'am, I am. Personally, I think Peterson was hoarding this case and had been since Mike took her concerns to him. He sees it as a springboard for the rest of his career. If he can solve this case – catch a serial killer and close an untold number of homicides and missing persons cases – he'll make it further up the Bureau hierarchy, and into a nice comfy chair in a nice comfy office where he won't have to do much more than sign papers for the rest of his career."

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but Hotch reached out and silenced her with a gentle touch on her forearm. Hotch wasn't a toucher, and the gesture was noticed by the rest of the team.

"I have no intention of doing anything to endanger Agent Carmichael's career. In fact, she'll need to return to assist in this case. If she's the one who was able to tie everything together, her insight will be invaluable."

"You should know, Agent Hotchner, that I told Mike not to contact the BAU. I knew that Peterson would kill her career if she did, and she's too good an agent to waste here."

"I understand, Web. Thank you for being up front with me," he said before turning to his team. "Dave, I'll want you and Emily to come with me to see Agent Carmichael. We'll leave as soon as I finish with Peterson. Reid, I want you to get with Garcia on victimology. We need to know everything we can about these women. Check to see if anything in their paths ever crossed. JJ, Morgan, start with the dump sites. See what you can find out from the crime scene photos first. We've got too many sites across too many miles for site visits yet. Web, would you please give Agent Prentiss Agent Carmichael's address?"

"Certainly."

Donovan Peterson was the picture of every lazy good ole boy Aaron Hotchner had ever come across. He was nearly six feet tall, but had gone soft in the belly years before. His blond hair was going gray at the temples, but starting to thin out on top. He wore a crisp black suit and characterless tie, resembling a prosperous Southern gentleman undertaker. Peterson moved slowly, standing behind his desk, but his face lacked any of the geniality Hotch usually encountered when he worked cases in the South. Hotch loathed the man on sight, but tucked those unprofessional feelings behind a mask of politeness. It was a necessary skill required to do his job effectively.

"Agent Peterson, I'm Aaron Hotchner with the BAU." Hotch didn't offer his hand. Why give this asshole the opportunity to reject it? "I'm going to need all of the files, evidence, or other information you've gathered regarding the homicides and missing persons sent to Conference Room 5B so my team can begin to analyze it. Also, I'll need each of your agents who've investigated any aspect of these cases to take the time to meet with my people. We need to get all of the available information together by the end of the day."

"Wait just a damn minute," Peterson growled. "You can't just come into my unit and begin giving orders to me and my men."

"I have and I will. There are at least twelve dead young women and an untold number of missing ones that may be connected to this case. I don't have the time or luxury to worry about soothing your ego."

"This is still my unit, Agent Hotchner, and I don't take orders from you."

"You will on this," Hotch's voice was suddenly stone cold and hard. "You've had this case for a long while, since Agent Carmichael came to you with her concerns. But you have no idea what you're doing and the bodies are piling up. You can complain about me all you want, but when the Bureau learns that you sat on this case to further your own agenda, it won't be my head on the chopping block." Peterson clenched his fists at Hotch's unspoken threat and opened his mouth to speak, but Hotch didn't let him interrupt, "Now, I'm going to speak with Agent Carmichael. Depending on my judgment regarding the information that she has, I may bring her back with me."

"Agent Carmichael is currently suspended for insubordination."

"I'm aware of the circumstances surround her suspension, but her knowledge and insight may be invaluable. If I determine that that is the case, she will be brought back in for this investigation." Hotch noticed Peterson attempting to surreptitiously nudge something under his desk. "Send that box of files and whatever else you're trying to hide under your desk down to the conference room." Having finished his directive, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner strode from the room, leaving the beet-faced unit chief fuming in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**__****So, here's chapter two. I hope you enjoy it! Again, a big special thank you to Tigerlily888 for her beta services. Apparently, I have issues with homophones.**

**Also, I still don't own Criminal Minds, but I do own this fic, etc. **

**Chapter 2**

Agent Hotchner slammed the driver's door closed after entering the SUV. The unusual display of temper from the typically stoic Unit Chief caused Prentiss and Rossi to catch one another's eyes in the rear view mirror. After a few tense seconds, Hotch started the vehicle and maneuvered them out of the parking lot.

"Did everyone get set up?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah," Emily responded from the passenger's seat. "Web was very helpful. He's got a good team of agents that respect him. As soon as you left, the files started to arrive, and Morgan, Reid, and JJ have already begun to speak with the agents involved in the various investigations."

"Good. Hopefully, Peterson won't be too much trouble while we're gone. Where does Agent Carmichael live, Dave?"

"According to Web, she's got a furnished apartment here in town, but she's not answering the phone there. Web thinks she's probably at her farm outside of Henderson."

"She has a farm?" Hotch asked, surprised.

"A horse farm. It'll take us a couple of hours to get there. Apparently, she inherited it from her grandfather – Jeffery Kendall."

Emily piped up, "The Statesman? That was her grandfather?"

"You know him?" Hotch asked, not surprised that Emily would know him.

"God, yes. I met him through my parents. He was kind of an ass, but brilliant at manipulating things to the country's advantage on the international stage. I think at one point he was considered the most loathed and admired American on the planet."

"I wonder how much of his political astuteness his granddaughter learned," Rossi quipped from the backseat. "She certainly didn't use any political savvy in dealing with Peterson."

"She doesn't have to, Dave," responded Hotch, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. "She did the right thing. After discovering an unknown serial killer in the area, she reported it, called for the BAU's help, and was suspended for her efforts."

As they contemplated whether Agent Carmichael was a good person or a political operator, something occurred to Hotch. "Why does she only have a furnished apartment?"

"What?" Emily asked to the seemingly random question.

"Web said she rents a furnished apartment in the city, but has the farm. She's been here eight months, at least, why does she only have a furnished apartment?"

Dave glanced at Emily for a quick second, trying to gauge how she would react to the information he was about to deliver. "According to Web, she's essentially been undercover since she got here about a year ago. She transferred in and was in place about three weeks later. They only wrapped the operation the day she was suspended."

"What kind of op?" Hotch asked, curious about what investigation used an undercover junior agent.

"A joint task force with the Bureau, ATF, DEA, and Justice. They used her to get intel on a guy trafficking in drugs and weapons up and down the Atlantic Seaboard."

"How does Justice fit in?"

"Apparently," Dave continued, "this guy was using Medicare and Medicaid fraud to procure prescription meds, which were then being sold at a very nice profit. They really hit the college crowd, selling mostly to the wealthier kids on the party circuit. Carmichael fit a type they needed. Plus, she'd just wrapped a similar undercover op in Colorado. No one would know her and she had the experience… And she was the guy's type."

Emily had remained silent while Rossi delivered this information. Her silence didn't go unnoticed by her companions. This time, it was Hotch that Rossi exchanged a look with in the rearview mirror. Rather than attempting to draw Emily out, they continued on, exchanging more information about Agent Carmichael.

"What happened?"

"They took everyone down in a series of coordinated arrests. Marcus Denham, the leader of the group, was killed during the raid on his home. Carmichael shot him when he took his maid hostage, some sixteen year old Honduran girl. They made close to 100 arrests, confiscated a considerable amount of illegal materials, including drugs, weapons, pornography, and trafficking victims like the maid."

"How long was she under?" Emily asked quietly.

"Eight months."

Hotch glanced back at Rossi in surprise. "She managed to get enough in eight months to shut down an organization that large?"

"Web said that Denham took a shine to her," Dave explained, casting a sidelong glance at Emily. "He shared a lot of information."

"I see." Hotch didn't say anything else. He'd noticed Emily becoming more and more anxious as Dave relayed what he'd learned from Agent Marston. Emily's jaw was clenched and she was picking manically at her thumbnail. Not sure if she would appreciate the gesture, Hotch reached out and put his hand over hers, stilling her movements. Brought back from whatever dark path her thoughts had wandered down, Emily glanced over at Hotch in surprise. She blushed when she realized what she'd been doing.

"What do you remember about Agent Carmichael from the Academy?" he asked, drawing her back into the conversation. He removed his hand without commenting on her anxiety.

Emily took a quick breath, refocusing her thoughts, thinking back to the class she'd taught so long ago. "She was smart. Not like Reid's genius, but she was able to take what we said, absorb it, and ask interesting follow up questions."

"She definitely kept us on our toes," added Rossi. "I think some of her classmates were enjoying her questions, enjoying seeing us scramble around to answer her."

"Yes, but she wasn't joking. Her questions were always insightful. They opened up new thoughts and theories for us. And she wrote down everything we said." Emily smiled at her memories of the intense young woman who'd been so obviously interested in profiling and how it was done.

"She kept asking questions even after the class was over. It took another 30 minutes to get untangled from her questions. I was exhausted when it was over. Felt like she'd sucked every ounce of intelligence right out of me. But her ideas were interesting. I even used some of them in the novel I pitched to my publisher. It comes out this fall."

Emily rolled her eyes, laughing. Only Dave would figure out how to turn the Academy's version of the Spanish Inquisition into a money maker.

The drive took nearly two hours and ended as they crested a well-maintained lane in front of an antebellum home surrounded by fields. A wrinkled old woman in a straw hat pulling weeds from the flower beds bordering the house directed them to where they could find Agent Carmichael.

"She's over in the west paddock. You tell her lunch is ready and not to leave guests boiling in the sun as if she wasn't raised with any manners."

Rossi snickered as they walked away. "I feel like I just got a dressing down from my Nonna."

"At least we'll get lunch," Emily said when her stomach growled.

The trio of agents wandered over to where the ancient woman had indicated. They found a young woman none of them would ever have pegged as an FBI agent. Kendall Carmichael was a petite, delicately built woman. She stood about 5'4 ½" in flat-heeled workboots. Pale peach skin dusted with freckles stretched across high, sharp cheekbones. The freckles went along with what looked like red-gold hair. It was hard to tell the exact shade as it was pulled back into a tail and mostly covered by a straw cowboy hat that also shielded the color of her eyes. She wore a pair of torn jeans tucked into the boots and an unbuttoned shirt over a bright blue tank. The only thing that kept them from falling for the gentle southern belle image she projected was the set of her body. Carmichael's shoulders were back and she held herself in a way that made her seem taller and less delicate. And then there was the language. They could clearly hear the cursing from nearly 50 feet away.

"Get the hell off my horse right now, asshole," Carmichael growled as she marched toward a blond man sitting astride a pretty black mare. Carmichael reached up, grabbed the man by his shirt and yanked him from his seat. The young man landed on his butt in a cloud of dust. "If you ever put a crop to one of my horses again, I'll whip your ass within an inch of your life, do you hear me? Only a damn fool needs a crop to break a horse to saddle. Get out of here. You can spend your time mucking stalls and be grateful I don't fire your worthless ass." With that, the man scrambled out of the paddock. "John!" Carmichael suddenly shouted.

An older man straightened away from the paddock fence where he lounged under an enormous live oak. "Yeah, Mike?"

"If I so much as see him standing within three feet of one of my horses, I'll cut his damn fingers off."

"He's a good trainer, Mike…" the man named John began.

"I don't give a good god damn if he's the second coming of Christ," Mike interrupted. "Only a fucking idiot uses a crop like that, and I don't let idiots on my horses. Until you've got him better trained, he doesn't touch my horses."

"Alright, Mike. You've got company," he nodded to where the three agents stood outside the fence. Finally noticing who was waiting for her, Mike immediately blushed a bright crimson.

"Shit," she mumbled before striding over to them. The mare, which had danced giddily away when her rider had been yanked from the saddle, followed discreetly behind her. If Rossi hadn't known better, he would have thought the animal was trying to eavesdrop.

Kendall Carmichael held out a slim hand to Emily and Dave, "Agents Prentiss, Rossi, it's good to see you again."

They each shook her hand and Dave turned to Hotch, "SSAIC Aaron Hotchner, SA Kendall Carmichael."

"Nice to meet you, Agent Carmichael."

"Likewise, sir."

Dave grinned. "I've been instructed to tell you that lunch is ready and to remember your manners," Rossi told her.

Remarkably, Carmichael blushed again and her shoulders hunched. She suddenly looked more like a sullen teenager than an FBI agent.

"Jeez. Alright, let's go up to the house. It'll be easier to talk there and I've got some things you'll want to see."


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope everyone is liking this. Thanks again to Tigerlily888 because she is amazing.**

**Also, I don't own CM (unlike this fic), but if I did I might have to institute a beard and sunglasses rule. Yum.**

**Chapter 3**

The house was stunning. The elegance didn't surprise any of the agents. Emily had grown up surrounded by it, Rossi had bought his way into it, and Hotch had worked around it his entire career. It was obvious that Mike didn't take her inheritance for granted either. She assiduously wiped her feet on the mat outside the front door before proceeding to a small powder room to wash her hands.

"Let's go back to the study. The information I've collected is there," Mike informed them as she headed to a beautiful room on the east end of the house. It would have been a lovely space, but it currently was marred by copies of the evidence and case files spread everywhere. In the center of the room stood a large corkboard covered in photos of the dead and missing women.

"Agent Carmichael, it's my understanding that you were operating undercover for about eight months," Hotch said.

"Yes, sir."

"How did you manage to put all of this together?"

"Actually, my cover story helped me with some of it. I was at UNC working on a PhD in psychology, doing research on violent behaviors, including mutilation, for my thesis. I was going through the local paper's archives looking for anecdotal information on local mutilation cases when I started finding stories of bodies and missing women. When I researched beyond the immediate area, I found more – and started noticing certain patterns. I was able to get the case files through Web and when I realized what was going on, I reported it to Peterson."

"You're telling me that in a couple of months of doing research as a grad student, you'd managed to identify a string of murders and possible disappearances linked to a single unsub?"

"Uh, no, sir. After two months, I'd tentatively linked three homicides and possibly 2 disappearances. That's when I went to Peterson. Everything else blossomed from there once I realized that Peterson wasn't going to contact you."

"How did you maintain your cover?" Emily wanted to know.

"It turned out to be easier than I had expected. Marcus thought it was pretty hilarious to have someone like me working with him. The fact that my education was obviously geared toward law enforcement was endlessly amusing to him. Not to mention that he considered my education to be beneficial to his enterprise. Who better to identify possible allies or enemies, find out if they're being truthful, to know what scares them, what incentives will work? It helped that he thought I was a sociopath." Mike sounded matter of fact, but she gave an involuntary shudder at her memories of Marcus Denham. She may have shot him and brought down his entire sordid organization, but her time with him, the things she'd done to survive, and the things she'd seen hadn't stopped haunting her.

Hotch realized the conversation was veering into territory that Agent Carmichael wasn't comfortable exploring, and sent his agents a silent signal to get them back to the current investigation. "Agent Carmichael, we're going to want you…"

"Lunch," announced the wrinkled old woman they'd met in front of the house. As she pushed a tea cart into the room, she gave Carmichael a beady-eyed glare, "You'd better eat everything on that plate."

Carmichael rolled her eyes, "You do realize I carry a weapon, right? That there are people here to talk about work?" She waved at the agents in the room.

"Don't you get sassy with me, missy. I'll take a switch to your backside. You're not too old, too big, or too official for a spanking." With that, the old woman stomped from the room.

Rossi couldn't contain his mirth and chuckled, attempting to hide it behind his hand. Prentiss grinned broadly and even Hotch smiled. Mike flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry. Joanie's been working here since the Great Depression. She basically raised me and likes to remind me that she's really in charge around here."

"She's worried about you," Hotch commented.

Mike sighed. "I know. She's been fussing ever since the op finished." She closed her eyes briefly then shook off whatever had come over her. "I'm sorry. Let's sit down and eat. You can tell me what you had in mind."

The four plates arranged on the rolling tea cart Joanie had left behind were too tempting to pass up. Soon, the four agents were arranged around a glass topped table in the bay window of the study. Prentiss had a momentary feeling of pity for her colleagues in Raleigh who wouldn't be getting such a fabulous meal. Chicken salad, fresh tomato slices, and a chopped salad with fresh lemonade were definitely not in store for the other half of the team.

Hotch interrupted the brief respite, "I don't usually like discussing a case while we're eating, but time is of the essence. How did you determine these bodies were connected?"

"One of the bodies was missing a square section of flesh from the right breast. When I looked into the other cases, a similar piece of flesh was missing – although for some of the bodies it was difficult to tell because of post-mortem mutilation or decomposition."

"What about the skeletal remains? How did you link those?" Rossi wanted to know.

"They showed similar knife wounds to the sternum. The unsub doesn't just cut out the skin, but cuts out the entire piece of flesh down to the bone. Additionally, there were similar signs of torture; burns, whips, broken fingers and toes. Similar ligature marks, again damaging the bone, signs of repeated rape. The evidence indicated that this all occurred over an extended period of time; there were signs of partial or total healing of broken bones and subsequent re-breaks, and the strangulation or suffocation of the victim. It wasn't so much one thing, as all of the elements together."

"What does this tell you about the unsub?" Prentiss asked. As she had been during her teaching experience, Emily was impressed with Mike, and felt a measure of pride at having brought her to Hotch's attention. Mike wasn't disappointing her previous assessment and demonstrated that she had continued to hone her fledgling skills as a profiler while working on other Bureau matters.

"That he's incredibly organized. The wound patterns follow a specific timeline. That he's an extreme sexual sadist. That he has somewhere secluded to keep these women and torture them; wherever it is, that place is relatively large since he keeps more than one victim at a time, and there's room for an extensive collection of torture paraphernalia. That he's smart or at least extremely cunning. He's been doing this for years and no one's caught on. He's comfortable in the outdoors, a lot of the dump sites have been pretty isolated, but he also blends well in the city, since that's where most of the women were abducted."

Rossi smiled to himself before catching Prentiss' eye. They'd been right about Mike. She was going to be a hell of a profiler. Hotch wasn't giving anything away, just continued his question and answer with Mike, but Rossi had no doubt that Hotch was already mentally working out how to pull this young woman into the BAU.

"Agent Carmichael, we're going to need to get this all back to the field office. Also, you're coming back in to help us. You're knowledge and research to date will be invaluable and save us from having to duplicate what you've already done."

"Sir, I'm currently suspended."

"I'm aware of your suspension and the circumstances surrounding it. But you're coming in and helping us with the case. I'll take care of Peterson."

Mike gazed at him unblinkingly for ten humming seconds, almost as if she were gauging Hotch as he had previously gauged her. "Yes, sir," she ultimately replied, pushing back from the table. "Give me a few minutes to speak with Joanie and change," she said before leaving the room.

After she left, Hotch walked back to the corkboard. "You were right about her, Prentiss," he commented as he reviewed the information Carmichael had gleaned from the various files.

Ten minutes later, Carmichael returned in more appropriate attire, although not a suit. Dark slacks and a scoop-necked blouse covered by a blazer were less formal than Hotch expected, but since she was technically suspended, he couldn't blame her for the less formal presentation. She carried a ready bag. When she noticed everyone glance at it, she explained, "I don't keep a lot at my apartment. I'll need some clothes for however long I'm there."

Mike offered to have one of her men help carry the file boxes and corkboard to the SUV, but Hotch declined. The fewer people to see what they were investigating, the better. It took three trips to get everything loaded, then their small caravan of Hotch and Rossi in the SUV and Mike and Emily in Mike's non-descript sedan began the trek back to Raleigh.

As they pulled onto the road beyond the gated entrance to her farm, Mike looked at Prentiss and asked the question that had been bugging her since the agents had arrived.

"What's it going to take to get Agent Hotchner to call me Mike?"

Emily just laughed.

* * *

><p>When the BAU team was reassembled at the Raleigh field office, they began to sift through the notes and files Mike had collected. Hotch had determined that it was best to keep Agent Carmichael cloistered with his team and out of Peterson's sight as much as possible. He might not give a damn about Peterson, but they had a job to do and didn't need him interfering.<p>

Emily kept her eye on Mike, watching as she interacted with the team. She was cooperative and friendly, asking and answering questions as they arose. But there was a tenseness to the younger woman that Emily recognized and every now and then Mike would roll her right shoulder before pressing her hand or arm against her ribs. Just before it would happen, Carmichael would briefly freeze, her eyes would lose their focus and Emily knew she was lost somewhere in thought, before she was able to drag herself back to the issue at hand. Emily wondered briefly if Mike had been evaluated for PTSD following her undercover assignment, then realized she probably hadn't been, considering how quickly she'd been suspended.

After another three hours of reviewing the open homicide and missing persons files, the team believed they had identified another possible six homicides within the original time frame and three more another year back. It brought the total to 21 women in six years. They had been able to reject a number of disappearances because the victims didn't fit the general victimology: too young, too old, unhealthy or unfit, or because they were such high risk victims like drug addicts or prostitutes. Unfortunately, they had linked another five possible missing on top of the eight Mike had already identified. The team took a moment to absorb the information they'd gathered and sorted and were horrified by the numbers before them. At least 21 confirmed dead and 13 more potential victims in over a seven year period. And that was just the ones they knew about or suspected. In all, 34 young women had been beaten, tortured, and raped over a long period of confinement.

Hotch took a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. This was worse than anything he'd anticipated. "I'm going to make a couple of calls then we'll find a hotel and get started fresh in the morning," he said before stepping from the room.

"Hey, Garcia," Reid called out to the woman who'd been video conferencing with them throughout the day, "where are we staying?"

"Sadly, my friends," Garcia started, "it looks like there's some kind of big event in the area this week. I could only find a hotel with enough rooms for you in Durham."

"That's kind of far… why don't you all just stay at my apartment?" Mike offered.

Morgan looked at her, "Are you sure? There are six of us, seven including yourself." He hated the impersonal hotels they often found themselves in, and hoped Mike's place could accommodate all of them.

"Sure. It's a stupidly large corporate apartment. I took the master, but there are three other bedrooms, each with two double beds. There's a bathroom attached to each bedroom. You would all have to share a room, but there's a pull out couch if someone isn't interested in sharing. It's not exactly homey, but it's big enough and a lot closer than anything in Durham." She looked around the room at each member of the BAU team, waiting for their answer.

Finally, after they'd all exchanged looks, Dave spoke up, "I don't have a problem with it. It'll save the Bureau some money too, which the budget office will love. As long as Hotch doesn't care, it sounds like a plan."

"As long as I don't care about what?" Hotch asked as he re-entered the room.

Garcia piped up from the computer, "I could only find a block of rooms in Durham, sir. Agent Carmichael offered up her apartment instead of making everyone drive so far."

Hotch glanced over at Agent Carmichael, surprised by her offer. She seemed the solitary type.

"As long as no one minds sharing a room, there are enough beds for everyone."

Hotch looked at his team. They were all clearly exhausted. Even though he had some concerns about everyone spending so much time together, when tempers frayed without a little personal space, he decided to spare them the additional drive. "I don't have a problem with that arrangement, but you're not under any obligation to put us up, Agent Carmichael."

"I know, but this will probably be easier for everyone."

"OK then. Let's head out."


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is dedicated to greengirl82 and HGRHfan35 who gave me my first reviews. Thanks, guys! As always, an extra special thanks to Tigerlily888. You should all be really thankful for her because her work spawned some amazing and supremely dirty haiku that will be posted soon. Definitely keep your eyes peeled for that.**

**Also, we're going to start getting into the M rated stuff from here. The rating is for violent content. If you have a weak stomach or don't handle violence well... well, this may not be the best fic for you to read. Please consider this your fair warning.**

**And, finally, like always, I don't own _Criminal Minds_ or its characters. But for real... can you imagine if I did?**

**Chapter 4**

The apartment was quiet; everyone had headed to bed after an unexpected meal of Chinese delivery. Mike knew the owner of the restaurant and had called in an after-hours order. The burly deliveryman, who was definitely not Chinese, asked Mike how she was doing before handing over an enormous amount of food. He gave Morgan, who'd helped Mike with the bags, a beady-eyed glare before Mike reassured him of her safety. After a quick hug and an admonishment from the deliveryman to take care, he left.

Morgan and Rossi were sharing a room while Hotch and Reid had the room across from them. Hotch was surprised initially with Morgan's choice in a roommate. But he remembered that Morgan had spent all day with Reid and probably needed a bit of space from the younger man. The ladies were tucked in on the other side of the ridiculously large apartment and had been silent since heading to bed. The quietness wasn't surprising; the sheer enormity of the case was obviously weighing on all of the agents.

Emily had laid in bed for over an hour waiting to fall asleep. JJ had dozed off not long after they'd cut off the lights. The blonde had her arms wrapped around one of the pillows and Emily smiled at the gesture thinking that JJ probably missed sleeping next to Will. She wondered briefly what that would be like – having someone in bed next to you night after night – before pushing the thought away. It wasn't going to happen for her any time soon, so why dwell on it? Unable to sleep and restless from sitting in a car for most of the day, Emily crept from the bedroom, thinking of grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen.

When she tiptoed into the living room, she was surprised to see someone sitting in the dark. From the size of the figure, Emily knew it could only be Mike. The young woman was curled in an over-sized arm chair; the lights were off and she stared unblinking out the window at the night skyline of Raleigh.

"Can't sleep?" Emily asked, careful to keep her voice soft. She didn't want to startle Mike or wake her sleeping teammates.

"Yeah. There's just a lot running though my mind."

"Look, I don't want to pry, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Mike said automatically, before turning back to the window.

Emily followed her gaze, thinking about what she'd observed about Mike during the day. The younger agent had dark circles under her eyes and was tense, definitely on edge. Emily recognized the signs of hyper-vigilance, insomnia, and the flashbacks she believed had been plaguing Mike all day. She debated what to say, if anything, and sat with her in the dark for several minutes.

By nature, upbringing, and profession, Emily did not share her thoughts or feelings. She would compartmentalize and hold her feelings in check, and could probably best even Hotch with her ability to not acknowledge emotional turmoil. She suspected that Mike was probably the same way. She also knew how much damage could be done by never acknowledging the storm of fear and sadness… and guilt.

"I did undercover work, too, you know." Emily ventured. She got the desired response: Mike turned her attention to the woman sitting next to her. Cautious curiosity played across her features.

"I know. Your… um… assignment has been Bureau gossip since you returned from the dead." Mike seemed suddenly unsure of herself. "I was sorry when I heard that you'd died."

"Really?" Emily asked, a bit taken aback by the news. She knew everyone gossiped about her "death" and subsequent return, but outside of her team and her small family, she hadn't considered anyone caring about her death.

"Yeah. I enjoyed your class at Quantico. It was interesting. Plus, you didn't mind my incessant questions," Mike smiled at the memory. "I'd hoped I'd get the chance to work with you some day."

They fell back into silence for a moment as Emily contemplated the younger woman viewing her as something like a mentor. It was unexpected, but flattering. She let the feeling seep into her for just a moment, enjoyed the pride it made her feel, and then pushed ahead with her original topic. "After I came to the BAU, I thought everything I'd done when I was under would be forgotten. I thought I could forget about it, act as if nothing had ever happened. That I hadn't seen the things I'd seen, hadn't done the things I'd done."

Mike glanced sharply over at her, absorbing her words, before looking back out the window. "Did it work?"

"Sometimes. You can go a long time before it pops back up and then you remember every detail."

Mike was silent for a long, humming minute. She was so quiet and still that Emily thought she wouldn't respond. But then she spoke. "I slept with him. With Marcus Denham."

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because I slept with Ian Doyle."

"It makes me feel sick sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because…" Mike stopped. Emily looked over at her. She was obviously trying not to cry, but Emily could see the tears glimmer in the twinkling lights of nighttime Raleigh. "Because sometimes I enjoyed it. Sometimes, I could forget who he was and what he did and just enjoy his company. Sometimes, I feel like I betrayed him… and I feel like I sold myself to get a job done."

"I know," Emily told her, acknowledging all of the feelings in herself as well.

"Does it go away?" Mike asked, wiping at the single tear that slipped down her cheek.

Emily sighed. "I don't know," she told Mike honestly. "I think so. But I'm probably not the person to ask. I have so much more guilt to bear for what I put my team through. I left them and ran. And then we faked my death. I don't just have to think about what I did with Ian, about how I got the information to bring him down. I have to remember what I did to my friends, and what some of them did to keep me safe."

"Would you do things differently if you could?"

Emily swallowed audibly. "No. I would do what I could to spare my friends, but everything else would be the same. And I'd still have to live with the guilt," Emily finished quietly.

Aaron Hotchner turned back into his room. He'd woken thirsty, but had stopped in the doorway, listening to the female agents talk. Instead of getting a glass of water like he wanted, he turned back into the dark bedroom, ignoring Reid's soft mumblings as he climbed back into the bed. He thought about Emily and Carmichael and their confessions to one another. And he acknowledged his own feelings of guilt and responsibility for Emily. It had been his decision to fake her death. He'd dragged JJ into it, pressuring her into action by using her concern for her friend. He'd made a promise to Clyde Easter – he hadn't been able to get Doyle and Emily had to be kept safe. So he'd hidden her, without her knowledge or consent. He'd told her friends that she was dead, coerced another friend into helping perpetuate the lie, and forced Emily into a period of lonely exile. If they hadn't found Doyle, she never would have been able to come back to them.

He sighed at the thought of what he'd done. Of how much he'd hurt everyone involved. Logically, he knew it was the right thing. But he wondered at the cost and the burden he'd placed on Emily. Carmichael was obviously a good agent. He hoped that she and Emily would find some peace from their conversation.

* * *

><p>Hotch was already awake, showered, and dressed when his cell rang the following morning. The unfamiliar bed, overhearing Emily's and Carmichael's conversation, and his own feelings of guilt had made for a poor night's sleep. He snatched up his phone before it could wake Reid and stepped into the hallway before answering it.<p>

"Hotchner," he barked into the phone.

"Agent Hotchner, this is Web Marston. We've got another body."

"Where?"

"About an hour south of Raleigh, near a town called Clayton."

"OK. We'll head out from here. Do you know the local sheriff?"

"Yeah, Buck Overton. He's a nice enough guy."

"Can you meet us there? We'll need someone who can liaise with local authorities."

"Certainly."

Emily, JJ, and Mike were already in the kitchen sipping on cups of coffee – or tea judging from the smell emanating from Emily's mug.

"We have another body," Hotch informed them. "We need to get everyone going now."

"Where is it?" Mike asked.

"Near Clayton," he told her before adding, "about an hour south of Raleigh," for the benefit of his agents who were less familiar with the area. "JJ, will you make sure Reid's up, please? I'll get Dave and Morgan."

"Dave's already up," Emily let him know. "He grabbed a cup of coffee just before you came out of your room."

"OK. I'll let them know we need to leave."

Ten minutes later, the group of agents was piling into the SUV's. Reid yawned before taking a sip of the coffee Emily had poured into a travel mug for him. It was the only sign that the team was operating on too little sleep.

* * *

><p>When the black Suburbans pulled up next to the County Sheriff's car on the outskirts of Clayton, North Carolina, Rossi knew the body was going to be bad. None of the deputies looked well and one, a young man with a buzz cut, was puking in the bushes. <em>Welcome to law enforcement, kid<em>, Rossi thought.

Web stood off to the side, waiting for them to exit the vehicles. Even he looked somewhat unsettled by whatever it was that he'd seen.

"Web," Hotch greeted him. "How bad?"

"Honestly? It's the worst I've ever seen," Web stated matter-of-factly before turning to lead the group into the trees that lined the dirt road.

About two hundred yards from the road, in a small clearing, there was a buzz of activity in the normally quiet woods. The coroner was examining the remains while a number of techs poked around the woods, gathering evidence and photographing the scene. The body was in pieces… literally. Whoever she was, she'd been dismembered, and the various chunks of her body had been tossed around the clearing.

Hotch approached the coroner, who was conferring with the local sheriff. Web introduced them.

"What can you tell us?" Hotch asked.

"She appears to be a 20-30 year old woman. Probably closer to 30, but I'll have a better idea of that once I get her back to the morgue. There are signs of extreme, prolonged torture, as well as rape – both anal and vaginal penetration. Post-mortem mutilation of the torso – a patch of flesh has been cut out of the right breast area. The indications are that she was alive when he began to dismember her." The coroner closed his eyes briefly at the horror the young woman must have endured before she mercifully died. "We haven't been able to identify her yet…" he trailed off.

Hotch looked over at him, "What is it?"

"I think, although I'll have to confirm it at the morgue, that these may be the remains of Meredith Gilbert. She disappeared from Nags Head about two years ago."

"What makes you think this is Meredith Gilbert?" Hotch wanted to know. Meredith Gilbert's name was on the list of potential victims.

"My colleagues across the state, as medical examiners, have tried to help one another… to pass along information in the hopes of identifying victims and bringing closure to their families. The medical examiner in Nags Head sent me Ms. Gilbert's medical file when she initially disappeared. He shared the information in the hope that if an unidentified body was found, we might be able to identify it as her. He's friends with her parents; they go to church together."

"God dammit, Pete," Sheriff Overton whispered. "I don't want to be the one to tell your friend about this."

"It's alright, Buck. Once I can confirm the identification, I'll call Nags Head. Tom, the medical examiner, and the local police can inform her parents. It might be easier coming from a friend."

Overton wiped his arm across his sweaty face. "There's not a damn thing about this that's easy. Agent Hotchner, do you have any idea who could be doing something like this?"

"Sheriff, who found the body?"

"It was found by Randy Hawbaker. This is his property."

"How big is this property?"

"About 350 acres."

"And Randy Hawbaker just stumbled upon the body?" Hotch frowned at this remote possibility.

"No. Every Wednesday, Randy rides out here and cleans up from poachers. Picks up cans, pulls down hunting blinds, that sort of thing."

"But it's Tuesday," Hotch pointed out.

"Yeah, Randy and his wife are going out of town tomorrow. They're spending a week in Hilton Head before heading down to Savannah to visit his wife's family. Randy came out today because he knew he wouldn't be around to do it tomorrow."

"So no one should have discovered the body for another 24 hours?"

"That's right."

"I think whoever is doing this is a local. Or at least someone local enough to know Mr. Hawbaker's usual schedule, but not that he was going out of town."

"Only their kids know they're leaving. It was a surprise present for Randy's wife, a thirty year wedding anniversary present."

"Web!" Carmichael suddenly called. "I need you over here!"

Web and Hotch rushed to where Carmichael knelt in the rotting leaves. "What is it?" Web asked.

Carmichael nodded toward a square of blue silk with a bright yellow border. "Does that look familiar to you?"

"Oh fuck," Web gasped, immediately recognizing the piece of fabric.

"What is it?" Hotch demanded. "What's wrong?"

"That's Peterson's handkerchief," Mike explained quietly.

Rossi suddenly called out to them, "You need to see this!"

The group rushed around the perimeter of the scene, trying not to damage any evidence. Reid and Rossi were huddled together, gesturing to something on the ground. At their feet lay a gold class ring covered in blood. Rossi looked at them, "It's inscribed: Donovan Peterson." Web closed eyes and rubbed his left temple. Next to the ring was the severed finger the ring had fallen from.


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the next installment! As always, thanks to Tigerlily888. **

**Hey, guess what? I don't own _Criminal Minds_. Sucks. I'm pretty sure I own this fic though. **

**Chapter 5**

Four hours later, the team began combing though Peterson's office. A group of local agents accompanied by Reid and Morgan were currently scouring Peterson's home. Mike was in the conference room helping JJ establish victimology, while Hotch and Web tore apart Peterson's professional sanctuary.

"Garcia, have you found anything yet?" After discovering the bits of Peterson at the disposal site, Emily had contacted the tech guru for help in tracking Peterson's movements.

Patched in via video conference, Garcia frowned. "Not much, Em. It looks like he last used his credit card at a gas station just down the road from the field office. His cell phone is either off or in one of the many dead zones down there so I can't get any GPS info on it. The last trace of it was a call he tried to make yesterday about 4:45 p.m. He was heading east of Raleigh. Cell reception is spotty at best there. It doesn't look like he was able to make it through."

"Who did he call?"

"I can't tell. The call wasn't long enough for any information to exchange with a cell tower."

Emily thought for just a moment. "OK, Pen, keep an eye on his cell phone. If he or the unsub has it, they may enter an area of reception and we can get a location."

"Gotcha."

"Also, I want you to start going through Peterson's life for the last six months. Phone records, credit cards, everything. I want to know everywhere he's been, everyone he's talked to. Get into his Bureau file and find out what you can about his professional past. Check all of the agents he's worked with, anything that might fit with this case, anyone he may have called for information or help, including local law enforcement in North Carolina."

"Should I include the agents at that field office? It's a lot of people, Em."

"I know, Pen. Start with Peterson's file and run the local agents here. He may have asked someone here to do something without them realizing why he was asking."

"OK. I'll hit you back if and when I find something!" Garcia chirped before disconnecting the link and disappearing from the laptop screen.

"Em, check this out," JJ called to her.

Emily approached the board that displayed the images of the known victims and the suspected ones. JJ and Mike were standing just back from it.

"Huh, no blondes," Emily noted.

"Yeah, that's one thing. He goes for young women, 23-32, with light brown or dark red hair. But there's something else. Yes, they're all healthy, no signs of drug or alcohol abuse, and each is attractive. But they're also all very successful."

"What do you mean?"

"Each of them was doing well, and all had incredibly bright futures. They made the Dean's List in college, had scholarships, were running their own businesses – things like that. Meredith Gilbert had a full scholarship to veterinary school. She won some kind of national award. Tanya Baker had a successful travel agency that specialized in trips for women. She started it out of her home when she was 19, and by the time she was 25, she had three employees and annual revenues of nearly $100,000."

"So they're all bright, successful women. How would the unsub know about this? I mean, making the Dean's List isn't national news."

"No," Mike jumped in, "it's not national news. But it's big news for these ladies' family and friends. They advertised their successes on a local level. Meredith Gilbert's parents had a framed copy of the local paper's story on their daughter's scholarship hanging in the entryway of the restaurant they own in Nags Head. There's a color photo of her with the story. The website for Tanya Baker's company has a link to an article on female entrepreneurs in which she was prominently featured. For some of the other women, their families had placed personal ads in the local papers or had somehow publicly celebrated the women's successes."

"So, they're publicly acknowledged and praised."

"Yes," JJ nodded. "And almost everything we can find lists these women as bright, successful, and ambitious."

Hotch walked into the conference room as they continued to discuss the discovery; Morgan, Rossi, and Reid close behind him.

"We haven't found anything in Peterson's home or office that would indicate where he was going or what he was looking into. JJ, Peterson had a box of files in his office yesterday. I told him to bring it here. Did he bring you anything while we were gone?"

"Um, actually he did," she told her Unit Leader, looking around the room. "There it is," she pointed at a box on the floor behind the table. "We didn't get a chance to look through it. We took it just to get him out of here."

"Reid, Carmichael, go through the box and see if there's anything helpful." The two youngest agents headed over to the box and immediately began cataloguing its contents. "Have you found anything on victimology?"

Emily gave JJ a nod, silently telling the newest profiler to step up. JJ took a deep breath, calming her nerves before speaking. She was still unsure of herself in this setting and slightly intimidated by the experience and skill of her colleagues. "We think we may have found the common element among all of these women. Aside from the physical characteristics – no blondes, young, healthy, attractive – these women had something else in common. They were all very successful for their ages and had uncommonly bright futures ahead of them." JJ rehashed the information she, Mike, and Emily had uncovered, laying out victimology for the male half of the team.

"So he likes strong, intelligent, successful women," Rossi commented. "And he takes what he likes."

"Yes, and then he breaks them," Hotch finished.

Emily jumped in, "He doesn't just break them. He humiliates them, beats them down from their personal highs, grinds them down to nothing more than objects for his own enjoyment and gratification."

"And then he obliterates them," Morgan noted. "He disposes of them in places where they're not likely to be found or easily identified. They're nothing and no one. Just a body in the woods."

"Get Web," Hotch instructed Morgan. "I think we're ready to give the profile."

* * *

><p>As Web listened to Hotchner give the profile of the man they were looking for, he got nauseous. He wanted to reject what he was hearing: that all of the brutality and death surrounding the case were because the victims were smart and hard-working. "Agent Hotchner, how is this supposed to help us?" he asked.<p>

"Based on the profile, we can tell you that we're looking for a white male between the ages of 35 and 45. He's smart, but is an underachiever. In all likelihood, he feels wronged by a woman in his life, probably a brunette. This woman may have been a girlfriend or wife that left him because of his lack of ambition and success or a woman who he feels stole his success from him. He has a job or trade that allows him to travel. He's taken women from all over the state. But he most likely lives within an hour's drive of Clayton, where our most recent victim was found. He's familiar with the residents of that town. He lives alone and owns the property where he lives, which is most likely isolated. He would not want a landlord or anyone else interrupting his time with his victims, which is extensive."

"I see. I can contact the local sheriffs; see if this sounds familiar to any of them."

"Thank you."

"Hey, Web, wait a second," Mike said before he could leave the room. All of the agents turned to look at her as she sat on the floor going through the box with Reid. "This is one of Maggie's boxes. Where's the inventory page?"

"It's not there?" Web asked, approaching the young woman and Reid.

"No, and the external list is missing, too," Mike told him.

"What's wrong?" Hotch asked.

"This box is from Maggie Holmes in Harnett County. She's the Records Clerk for the Sheriff's office there," Web explained.

"What's the significance of that?"

Mike expounded for Web, "Maggie is in the process of uploading the Sheriff's files onto an electronic system. As she digitizes the files, she boxes them with a number and adds it to the database so anyone can find the box. She then prints two copies of the inventory list. One copy goes on the outside of the box. One copy is enclosed in the box. That way, you know what's in the box and if something's missing. She's very particular."

"What if these are files she hasn't digitized yet?"

"Maggie won't send out anything that hadn't been scanned and uploaded. If Peterson requested files from the Harnett County Sheriff that weren't in the system, Maggie would have created a box just for those files, scanned them, and uploaded them before letting those files leave the building."

Web spoke up, "That fool must have found something in one of these files indicating who the suspect is. He was still trying to keep this investigation to himself."

"Web, call Miss Holmes. I want to know what's missing from this box. Get copies of the files that are missing or get us access to this database."

Web left the room just as Garcia's colorful image reappeared on the laptop screen. "Sir," she called out to Hotch, "Agent Peterson's cell just came on. Someone's making a call."

"Track it, Garcia."

"On it, sir."

Suddenly, the telephone in the conference room buzzed. "Agent Carmichael, there's a gentleman on line three who wants to speak with you. He says he has information on your case."

The agents looked at one another, acknowledging the extreme unlikelihood that Peterson's phone would suddenly be in use moments before Carmichael received a call about the case.

"Garcia," Hotch began with new instructions for the analyst.

"Already on it, Bossman."

Hotch nodded to Carmichael who dialed into line three and put the call on speakerphone. "This is Agent Carmichael."

"Hello, Agent Carmichael." The voice was distorted, mechanical, but there was no mistaking the malice in the tone.

Hotch gave the young agent a signal to continue. "I understand you have information related to a case," Mike said to the caller.

"You know I have much more than that, Agent. Don't treat me like I'm stupid," the voice yelled.

Mike kept her eyes on Hotch while she spoke, trusting that the BAU chief would help her through the conversation. No one else spoke. "Alright. I'm sorry." Hotch gave her a small nod of approval.

"You're damned right you're sorry! You shouldn't have been poking around in what doesn't concern you. Do you know what happens to people who do that?" Before Mike could formulate a response, the mechanical voice was gone. In its place were the wild screams and begging of Donovan Peterson.

"PLEASE! PLEASE STOP!" were the only distinguishable words among the mix of cries. All sound in the bullpen just beyond the conference room stopped. Every agent heard the almost inhuman shrieks pouring from the phone's speakers and they all recognized Peterson's anguished voice. Every eye turned to the conference room.

As quickly as they had erupted, the screams and pleas stopped, replaced by the creepy, disembodied voice. "He was pathetic, weak. Begged for mercy almost before I started." There was glee in the voice, obvious in the silence surrounding the agents.

Hotch signaled Carmichael to keep the voice talking. "What do you want?"

The unreal voice just laughed. "I think Agent Peterson is done now. You should come pick him up." Then the voice was gone.

"Hello?" Mike called into the open line.

"Garcia!" Hotch shouted.

"Sir, he left the line open. The phone is in a field off of Highway 70 near Wilsons Mills."

"Morgan, Prentiss, Carmichael, you're with me. The rest of you, finish working on victimology. Web, contact the clerk. I want those records now. Garcia, I want you to go back though the call, isolate anything that might give us an indication of where Peterson was being held. Let's move."


	6. Chapter 6

**Here you go! Hope you enjoy it. We've got a few more chapters to go. Thanks to Tigerlily888! Please read and review if you get the chance. **

**Also, I don't own _Criminal Minds_ and I'm just passing the time and please don't sue me CBS/ABC because I really don't have any money and am actually in debt up to my eyeballs (but, hey, if you want to help a fan out, I won't say no).**

**Chapter 6  
><strong>

Donovan Peterson was an asshole. Selfish and self-serving, he was a lazy agent and a borderline embarrassment to the Bureau. But as Hotch stared down at what was left of Peterson's body, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming wave of pity. Whatever he'd been in life, Peterson hadn't deserved this.

Stripped naked, Peterson's remains had been dumped in a field surrounded by bored-looking cows. His skull had been crushed by whatever had been used to club him. His left eye socket was broken and his eye bulged a bit beneath the closed lid. He was missing three fingers and the nails had been torn from the remaining digits. His back was a shredded ruin, evidence of being whipped to the bone. His genitals were burned. It appeared that his groin had been doused with an accelerant before being set ablaze. The rest of his body was a mess of bruises, cuts, and disfigurement. One of his shoulders was dislocated and Morgan speculated that he had been hanged from his wrists, resulting in the injury. There was a large square of flesh missing from Peterson's right pectoral area.

Carmichael had not liked Peterson. She'd considered him an asshole, a misogynistic bully who'd tried to kill her career. But as she stared down at his broken body, all she felt was compassion. She knew his last moments had been nothing short of hell on Earth.

On the drive back to the field office, the agents were mostly silent, each thinking of Peterson's death. Hotch dreaded the upcoming mess of bureaucracy that would follow his notification to the Bureau that Peterson had been murdered. He could only imagine Strauss' reaction to the news. Back from treatment for less than ten days and an agent is killed while covertly investigating a string of homicides her premiere BAU team was also investigating. She would not be pleased.

The bullpen in Raleigh was somber when the four agents returned. When they'd ensconced themselves in the conference room with the rest of the BAU agents and Web, the tension was palpable.

Rossi was the first to break the strain. "How bad?" The agents who'd had the misfortune to see Peterson glanced at one another. Mike didn't meet anyone's eye. Instead, she took a seat at the conference table and rubbed at the tension headache building behind her eyes. Rossi raised an eyebrow at their collective silence. "That bad?"

"One of the worst I've seen," admitted Hotch before detailing the torture and mutilation Peterson suffered. Emily hid a smirk as the guys all shifted uncomfortably when Hotch described the burns. Hell, even Hotch moved a little as he described those injuries.

"So he wasn't strangled?" Reid inquired.

"No. The coroner said that he was beaten to death. I'm not surprised, considering the condition of the skull. The left side of his head was completely bashed in."

"The unsub is probably right-handed then," Reid commented.

"Why would you think that?" Web asked.

Before Reid could answer, Mike spoke quietly without looking up from the table, "Because the unsub would have been looking at him. He didn't strangle him - Peterson isn't his type, so he wouldn't get the same release from his death - but he'd need to look at him when he killed him. He needed Peterson to know that he was going to die. The unsub wanted his fear, to be able to see the pain, and Peterson needed to know exactly who was killing him."

Emily met Hotch's eye and raised a brow. Mike was dead on in her assessment. Web looked at Rossi for confirmation of Mike's statement and Rossi nodded, confirming what Mike had said. When he looked over at Agent Hotchner, Web saw the agent's unspoken exchange with Agent Prentiss. He knew in that moment that Mike wouldn't be staying in Raleigh after this case. Hotchner definitely intended to take his bright young colleague to Quantico. Web would miss her. He enjoyed her sarcasm and off color language. But he knew she was going to get the chance to do what she wanted, and she'd serve under the best agents the Bureau had to offer. In that moment, surrounded by the horrors of the case, Web was glad.

* * *

><p>There was work to be finished before the team could retire for the night. With victimology more established, the team needed to go back through the list of possible victims, weed out the women who did not fit, and add new potential victims. Deciding that a fresh pair of eyes couldn't hurt, Hotch assigned the task to Reid and Morgan. Prentiss and JJ were going through the records Garcia had generated about Peterson's activities for the last six months, hoping to find some clue of who he had suspected and why. Web was still waiting for Maggie Holmes to send him the information on the files Peterson had requested. Normally, Maggie would have had the information within a few minutes, but there was a system failure that Web didn't understand ("fucking technology," was his grumbled complaint on the issue) delaying the process.<p>

Rossi had volunteered to interview the attendant at the gas station where Peterson was last seen the previous day. Mike, knowing of the attendant's slight crush on her, offered to go along. She desperately needed to get out of the office and away from all of the smiling faces staring at her from the board.

The attendant at the Quick Stop where Peterson had filled his tank before leaving Raleigh wasn't much more than a kid. He stuttered a bit when Mike spoke with him, but Rossi appreciated her coming along on the interview. The kid's crush was obvious and he offered her more information than Rossi would have gotten out of him. "Dan," as his name tag read, was even more awkward with women than Reid, but Mike handled him with a delicacy Rossi recognized and appreciated. She flirted a little, but was careful not to lead the poor boy on.

"Did you see a blond guy, about 55-60, thinning hair in here yesterday? He was wearing a black suit with a boring tie," Rossi asked.

"Man, do you know how many old guys in suits I see every day?" Dan asked as he peeked up at Mike and blushed. "I mean, all the government offices are within just a few blocks. It's nothing but old white guys in suits."

Mike smiled easily at the attendant, "Would you mind if my friend looked at your security camera footage? Our colleague was here yesterday and he may be on the feed. I think I've got a picture of him in the car. Maybe if you see it, it'll help jog your memory. While Agent Rossi is looking at the video, maybe you and I can talk about our colleague and what you remember."

"Yeah, sure, that would be great!" Dan gushed. Suddenly recollecting the situation, Dan tried to be more serious, "I mean, sure. Let me get the tape," he agreed eagerly. Rossi just shook his head at how the kid had been played.

"Good job, Agent," he smiled at Mike.

She grinned back. "He's harmless. If you'll start looking at the video, I'll try to get something out of him about Peterson. I don't expect much, but you never know. Maybe the unsub knew Peterson was on to him and was stalking him. I'll be back in a second. I've got to get the file from the car. There's a copy of Peterson's ID photo in it."

"I'm sure Dan will be waiting with baited breath for your return," Dave teased her.

* * *

><p>While Dave and Carmichael made their way into the gas station, Hotch conferred with his team. Reid believed that he had identified three more cases linked to the unsub. As Hotch reviewed the information Reid had uncovered, Garcia's image blinked open on the laptop.<p>

"Sir! I think we might have a problem."

"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked, concerned by her tone.

"Emily asked me to look into Agent Peterson's life to find out whether he'd made any progress or targeted anyone in particular as a suspect in this case. To that end, I've been going through the hard drive on his home computer."

"And?" Hotch asked, trying to spur her along.

"Sir, someone else has accessed Peterson's computer. It looks like he used a remote connection program."

"What did he access, Garcia?"

"Peterson kept records on all of the agents that served under him. Whoever this is, he accessed those records."

A creeping feeling of dread began to snake its way through Hotch. "Did he look at anyone in particular?"

"He looked at Agent Marston's and Agent Carmichael's files."

"Hotch…" Emily started.

He cut her off with a look. "What records does Peterson have, Penelope?"

"It looks like their whole service records, sir. Evaluations, fitness reports, cases, disciplinary history, commendations…"

"What commendations are in Carmichael's file?" Hotch interrupted.

"A whole potful. She's only been in the Bureau for three years, but she's got more accolades than you. There are letters from the ATF and DEA, evals like I've never seen. I think 'glowing praise' is an understatement when it comes to her."

"Oh, shit," Morgan whispered.

"Prentiss, get Dave on the phone!" Hotch shouted, but Emily was already dialing. The team began moving out of the room.

"What's wrong?" Garcia cried from the laptop.

"Agent Carmichael is the unsub's next target!" JJ called out as she ran for the door.

* * *

><p>Dan, the gas station attendant, returned with the video tape as Mike walked out the door of the shop. Dave watched her progress on the little monitor near the register as Dan cued the tape to the right day.<p>

It happened so fast that Rossi barely had time to react. As he watched Mike open the passenger door of the Suburban, the driver's door of the SUV idling in the next parking space opened. A man in a dark hoodie and baseball cap stepped out. His purposeful movements toward Mike making Rossi's nerves scream "DANGER!" Rossi unholstered his weapon and ran for the door as the SUV driver held a Taser to the back of Mike's neck. Her body danced with the shock of the current and collapsed as Rossi burst through the door. Mike was hauled into the vehicle and the driver was peeling away from the gas station before Rossi could even cross the lot. The tail lights glared as the vehicle disappeared in the maze of streets.

Rossi didn't realize his phone was ringing until that second. When he saw Emily's name on the display screen, he answered briefly.

"He got her."

* * *

><p>Seven minutes after Mike disappeared, the BAU team, accompanied by Web, surrounded Dave Rossi.<p>

"What happened?" Hotch demanded. In the flashing blue lights of the police cars surrounding the gas station, Hotch's face looked even more grim than usual. His cheekbones stood out in stark relief, as if he'd lost weight on the brief trip from the Raleigh field office.

"Mike went to the SUV to get a picture to get a picture of Peterson to show the attendant. The unsub was in the car idling in the next parking spot. When she reached in to grab the photo, the unsub used a Taser from behind. She was down and in his car before I got out of the building, driving off before I crossed the lot," Rossi explained, wanting to be sick.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before issuing orders to the agents clustered anxiously around him. "Morgan, you and Rossi stay here and work with the local police. Get the vehicle description out and get them to set up road blocks."

"It was dark blue. There wasn't a license plate," Rossi added suddenly.

"Let them know. Once you've done that, get back to the field office. Everyone else will go back through everything Peterson looked at. The answer is in the files; we just need to find it. Web," Hotch said, turning to the local agent. "Web," he said again, trying to get the man's attention. "Agent Marston!" Hotch snapped, finally drawing Web's attention from wherever it had focused.

"He's going to hurt her," Web whispered.

"Agent Marston, I need you focused here. We will get her back. But I need you to do your job in order to make that happen."

Web took a shuddering breath, cutting off the errant thoughts of Mike and what would happen to her. "OK."

Hotch ruthlessly shut off his natural sympathy at the anguish that was clear on Web's face. "You need to get in touch with the clerk in Harnett County. I want those records now. Send someone to get them if you have to. We need to know whatever Peterson found."

"Alright."

"Good. Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

**So, yeah... still don't own _Criminal Minds_. Please don't sue me and all that jazz because I'm just goofing around and not making any money from this. But please don't steal from me either.**

**And thanks to Tigerlily888, even though she said I didn't have to thank her every time. But she deserves because I totally forgot to give her the heads up about this chapter. Sorry! It's a little brutal and violent. You guys are getting way more of a warning than she did. **

**Chapter 7  
><strong>

Mike woke in the dark. A headache at the base of her skull throbbed in rhythm with the pain around her left eye. She vaguely remembered rousing in a car before a blinding pain on the side of her head sent her back into blissful unconsciousness. _Bastard must have punched me_, she thought. She tried to shake off the feeling of wooly-headedness. She hurt everywhere, she was cold, and… she couldn't move. That terrifying realization caused her to struggle frantically. But her arms and legs didn't move and whatever bound her down tore into her skin. She could feel her blood trickle out from beneath the restraints. With a deep breath, Mike tried to get herself under control. She stopped the fruitless attempt to get free and tried to take stock of her situation.

Her blazer was gone. So were her socks and shoes. Mike shivered against the cold metal surface at her back. Her scoop-necked blouse didn't offer much protection from either the chill in the room or the fear wracking her small frame.

Without warning, a light came on directly above her; its brightness seared her eyes, causing momentary blindness and setting her headache throbbing again. Before her vision was restored, she could hear the scuff of boots on concrete. The heavy steps were coming closer to where she lay helpless. Just beyond the circle of light, the steps stopped and a match was struck in a small fire pit. Mike could see a figure moving in the light around the pit. Her fear, manageable before, erupted again and unconsciously, she began to struggle against the restraints once more. Before she could blink, the figure stepped up to her and delivered a single open-handed blow. Mike's lip split and she gasped at the sudden pain.

"So, you thought you could catch me," the figure said. "Fucking pathetic. Look at you. You're fucking weak! They think you're smarter than me?" He ranted a bit more while Mike remained silent, paralyzed by fear. Whatever he was going to do to her was going to be worse than she had ever imagined.

"You're nothing," he said, suddenly smiling. Leaning over her, he gripped the neck of her blouse, and tore it open with a vicious tug. He walked back to the fire pit and picked up a metal rod that Mike had assumed was a fireplace poker. When he turned back to her, Mike realized she'd been wrong. It was a brand – three interlocking diamonds glowed bright orange from their time in the flames.

The unsub grinned at her – _such an innocuous face_, she thought - before he spoke. "You're nothing. And now you're mine." He slowly lowered the brand to her right breast, exposed by a demi cup bra. Even though he had yet to touch her skin, Mike could feel the heat of the iron and tried to angle her body away from him. His smile was full of evil glee as he looked down at her.

"Where the hell do you think you can go?" he asked before ramming the brand into her skin.

"Mike shrieked at the pain. It was the only sound she made.

Two hours after Mike had been taken, the bullpen on the fifth floor of the Raleigh field office was a hive of activity. Galvanized by the audacious kidnapping of one of their own, the local agents were contacting everyone they knew in an effort to find something that would help them get her back. When word of Mike's disappearance got out, the ATF and DEA agents with whom she'd most recently worked had shown up, volunteering to do whatever was necessary to recover the missing agent. Hotch had tasked Web with fielding those offers. It helped the older man deal with his fear – or ignore it – while the BAU agents sifted through the files that had finally arrived from Harnett County. Reid was the first to read through the files, passing them off one at a time to one of his teammates when he'd finished. His speed reading had never been more happily acknowledged.

When he finished, Reid spoke up to Hotch, "I'm not entirely sure what Peterson was seeing here," he admitted, perplexed. "Most of these cases don't fit victimology. Of the eight files, three are blondes and can probably be discounted. The others don't have the same pattern or are well outside the time frame."

"Wait," Emily interrupted. "What about this one, Reid?" she asked, holding up the photo of a young brunette. "Sarah Gayle McHenry."

"She was an art student," Reid stated. "She disappeared nearly ten years ago. Just before she disappeared, her car was vandalized. The police believed that maybe an ex-boyfriend damaged the car or she had a stalker."

"Her tires were slashed and the windows were smashed," Emily stated. "That's a lot of rage. And there was no indication of any vengeful ex or a possible stalker."

"Did the police have any suspects?" Morgan asked.

"Not for the vandalism or her subsequent disappearance. The police didn't think the two events were related. They speculated that Sarah had run away. Apparently, Sarah had a successful show of her work at a gallery, but her family was pressuring her to leave school and take over the family business."

"Where's the family now?" Hotch asked.

"The parents died about eight years ago. She has an older brother, Paul, who lives in the family home," Reid said.

"Where?"

"Outside of Powhatan, about an hour's drive from Clayton."

"Wait," interrupted Rossi. "The parents wanted their younger daughter to take over the family business? Not their older son? What kind of company is it?"

"It's an art brokerage group. They help find and promote promising artists, broker deals, sell their work, that kind of thing. They have galleries and offices across the southeast," Reid informed him.

"What happened when the parents died?" Rossi asked.

"I'm not sure," Reid said.

"Get Garcia," Hotch instructed Emily. "Web," he called to the agent speaking to the DEA agents who steadfastly refused to leave. "Where is Powhatan?"

"It's in Johnston County, southeast between Clayton and Wilsons Mills."

"Get Sheriff Overton on the phone. I want everything you can find about the McHenry family. They had a daughter named Sarah Gayle and a son named Paul. Call the local police as well. Get whatever information they have on all of them."

Hotch walked back to where Emily was speaking with Garcia over the video link.

"Have you found anything, Garcia?"

"It looks like Paul McHenry inherited the family home in Powhatan when his parents died."

"What about the family business?"

"It was placed in a trust. The parents set everything up for the benefit of their missing daughter. I guess they never gave up hope that she would come home."

"What about the son?" Hotch asked.

"Paul McHenry was 30 years old when his sister disappeared. His parents left him a tidy sum - $50 million – but it's in a trust as well. He gets the interest to live on."

"But the parents didn't trust him with the bulk of their estate or with maintaining the family business," Rossi commented.

Web entered the room, disconnecting a call on his cell as he approached the conference table. "Buck Overton says Paul McHenry is a 'self important tool who doesn't know his ass from his elbow.' That's a direct quote."

"I take it he doesn't like Mr. McHenry," Rossi drawled.

"According to the local PD and Sheriff Overton, Paul was a smart enough kid, but lazy and kind of a bully. He just expected everything to go his way and got pissy when that didn't happen."

"Sir," Garcia chirped from the laptop, "I've got some background on Paul McHenry. It seems that Paul McHenry got in a fair amount of trouble as a kid: vandalism, malicious mischief, fighting, drinking as a minor. He was suspected of a lot more, but no serious charges were ever brought against him."

"The parents smoothed it out for him," Morgan said.

"Yeah, it looks like it. He did some college, after his parents made a nice donation to the school just before he started. But he dropped out and decided to pursue his art."

"Which is what?" Emily wanted to know.

"Metal working. He had a couple of shows, but his work received an underwhelming reception. Oooh, ouch," Gacia commented.

"What is it?" Emily wanted to know.

"After one of his shows, a critic said that the only thing memorable about McHenry's work was his signature. Apparently, instead of signing his name, he used a symbol: three interlocking diamonds. According to the critic, it demonstrated his 'his pretention and monstrous ego, which was the only really emotion his work displayed.'"

Emily winced at the characterization. "That must have pissed him off."

"What about the sister?" Hotch asked.

"Sarah Gayle McHenry had no trouble. Good grades in high school, full scholarship to college. She pursued art first with a business minor. Excellent grades in both areas and she graduated in four years. She was pursuing an MFA when she disappeared."

"What was her genre?"

"Photography. She did beautiful work. Her first show as a student drew a lot of attention. She had one professional show before she disappeared. There was an amazing review in the paper after the show. She disappeared about six weeks later."

"I bet big brother didn't like little sister stealing his spotlight," Rossi commented.

"Anything else, Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"I'm trying to connect him with our victims. It looks like he was in the towns from which they were kidnapped about a week prior to each disappearance."

"For how many of the victims?"

"All of the ones I've checked so far, so ten. He was there on business. He works for the family company. He was looking at local galleries, meeting potential artists or buyers, trying to find places to display his own work."

"Thank you, Garcia."


	8. Chapter 8

**Here's the next one! We're almost done... just a little more bad stuff. Thanks to Tigerlily888 (and you should totally check out her historical piece. It's awesome.)!**

**Also, I don't own _Criminal Minds_, but wish I did just for the opportunities for smut. Also, randomly, the Americans in the crowd should look into SOPA. I don't want to get political, but anyone who enjoys or writes fanfic should be a little bit concerned about this bill. So, educate yourselves and contact your representatives. OK. That's enough of that.**

**Chapter 8  
><strong>

At the sheriff's office in Johnston County, Buck Overton swore ripely. "You're telling me that that worthless son of a bitch has been killing women for nearly a decade?"

"Yes," Hotch told him. "He has a need to be dominant, but he's not, and he's struggled with being denied his desires. Whenever something went wrong or he was denied anything he wanted, he would become enraged and need to assert his supremacy over everyone and everything he comes into contact with."

"Marianne Bailey."

"I'm sorry?" Hotch asked, confused by the name the sheriff randomly dropped into the conversation.

"Marianne Bailey. She was a girl we went to school with. She turned Paul down. A few weeks later, her car was stolen. It ended up in lake not far from here. We figured he'd done it, but there was never any evidence. He started dating some idiot girl from another school. About eight weeks after that, Marianne was raped. The guy cut her pretty badly. She never came back to school. Do you think Paul could have done that?"

"It's possible. She rejected him. He would need to assert his dominance and superiority over her," Hotch stated. He believed that Paul McHenry's reign of terror went beyond anyone's worst imagination. "What do you know about the sister?"

"Sarah? She was the sweetest, smartest girl I ever met. Honestly, I had a crush on her when we were kids. Is he responsible for her disappearance too?"

"Why do you ask?"

"After Sarah disappeared, Paul really pushed the runaway theory. Said she'd complained to him about their parents putting so much pressure on her; said he heard her crying a couple of times at night when everyone else was supposed to be in bed."

"He tried to make her look weak and irresponsible."

"Yeah. I never believed it though. Sarah wasn't like that at all. If her parents wanted her to take over the business, she would have been able to do that and still be a photographer. She was incredibly gifted and brilliant. Do you think Paul had anything to do with Sarah's disappearance?"

"I do. I think she was the first woman he kidnapped."

"Did he do to her what he did to that woman we found in Hawbaker's woods?"

"I don't know." Hotch was hesitant to commit to that. Sheriff Overton's growing anger was evident, and he didn't want the man to lose control and go after McHenry before they'd had a chance to recover Mike.

Picking up on Hotch's evasion, Overton cursed. "God dammit!"

"I need you to stay calm. We intend to bring Paul McHenry in and recover as much information and victims as possible. I cannot do that if I have to worry that you're going to act like a vigilante." Buck took a deep breath, nodded, and stalked away to join the rest of the individuals waiting to be briefed on the raid.

"Can I have everyone's attention. I know that everyone is tired, but we need to stay focused until this is completed.

"The McHenry property is extensive and there are a number of buildings that will need to be cleared. Sheriff Overton, your deputies and the volunteers from DEA and ATF will take the main house. The rooms need to be cleared one by one. You'll be looking for McHenry as well as any potential victims. They'll need to clear every floor, including the attic and basement.

"Web and Buck, you will accompany my team as we search the studio workshop. Same thing: clear each room and floor. The local police will clear the remaining outbuildings which include a shed and a barn," Hotch ordered.

Morgan picked up the thread of the instructions from his unit chief. "Everyone needs to be aware that Paul McHenry is extremely dangerous. It is not known if he is armed, but he will fight back if cornered. He will see this raid as a direct challenge to his authority and dominance within the community. Additionally, there may be victims on the property. He may try to use them as hostages. We don't know how many victims we might find or what their condition might be. Medical personnel will be on site to assist with anyone we recover."

Emily finished giving the orders. "Under no circumstances should you touch anything you find. Aside from possibly corrupting forensic evidence linking McHenry to the missing and dead women, we want his territory to remain as intact as possible. In the event that we do not find Agent Carmichael or any other victims, McHenry's personal space may be able to provide us with information on where he might have taken them."

When Emily finished, Hotch spoke up again. "I understand that for many of you, this is a personal case. It is imperative that whatever personal feelings you have, you put them aside. Our main objective is to find Agent Carmichael and any other women he might be holding. Additionally, he is the only one who knows where his other victims have been disposed. We need him alive to identify each of his victims and locate the remains of those we haven't discovered. Without him, we may never find them all, and those women's families will have to live with the uncertainty for the rest of their lives."

* * *

><p>In the basement of the Paul McHenry's studio workshop, Mike shivered on the stone floor. He'd dropped her there after finishing the beating. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in this hellhole, but her body felt like it had been too long.<p>

After the branding, Mike had passed out. The searing pain had been more than her system could bear. She'd regained consciousness sometime later. Several dull lights were on around the room, illuminating shelves and racks of tools. Knives, scissors, and other sharp tools of all shapes and sizes were lined up neatly on shelves and tables. Straps of leather hung on the wall next to thin slats of wood, some studded with nails or glass. Everything was neat, orderly and terrifying.

Three sharp slaps across her face brought Mike's attention back to the man holding her. Her cheek stung, but the blows were more degrading than painful, and she felt her anger rise as he tried to break her. But she couldn't hold on to her rage through the pain in her body. The skin of her upper breast screamed with heat, and her wrists and ankles were torn and bleeding from her earlier struggles. And she knew that this was not even the worst that would happen to her. Her stomach growled loudly in the silence. Her captor laughed softly at the noise.

"Hungry?" he taunted, leering at her from his perch on a rolling stool positioned near the leather straps.

Mike didn't look at him; instead, she turned away, refusing to acknowledge him, trying to get her pain under some kind of control. When she didn't respond, the man launched from the stool, grabbing a studded strap from the wall as he came over to her.

"Don't ignore me," he demanded.

Mike closed her eyes.

_Whack!_ The strap came down on top of her thighs. The blow itself was painful, but the pointed studs were worse. They tore through her clothes, digging into her flesh. He yanked the strap back, tearing it from where it had embedded in her skin. Mike gasped at the pain, but was able to bite back any other response. Steadfastly, she kept her eyes closed.

"Don't ignore me!"

_Whack!_ The strap came down again, this time tearing through the soft skin of her abdomen. She gasped again but was still able to hold back the screams clawing at the back of her throat. Mike couldn't stop the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes.

"You stupid, bitch! Don't ignore me!" Her captor yelled before jerking the studded leather from her skin. He dropped the strap where he stood and approached the head of the table where she was restrained. "When will you stupid whores learn?" He grabbed the pinky of her right hand, twisting until it snapped. Mike wasn't able to hold back her cries any longer.

"Told you," the man gloated. He reached under the table and pushed a button. Her restraints suddenly loosened.

Before Mike could register her freedom, a fist slammed into her tender stomach. Breath rushed from her in a startled whoosh and Mike doubled over, gasping for air. She didn't have time to recover before her captor jerked her from the table by her hair. He dragged her a short distance, kicking her in the knee when she stumbled, before dropping her in a heap and watching her shiver. Mike's head bounced against the stone floor and she whimpered pitifully.

"I can't believe they think you're so special. Fucking weak. Just like the others." He stepped back, flipping a switch on the wall. It illuminated a set of manacles hanging over a grated drain in the floor.

Mike tried to get up, tried to get away. But her knee collapsed under her weight. Her captor grabbed her by the hair again, laughing at her worthless attempts to escape. He dragged her the last few feet to where the manacles hung, snapping them closed around the torn flesh of her wrists.

Stepping back over to the panel of switches, the unsub flicked one, and the manacles began a slow rise from where they were suspended in front of her. Her mind registered that whatever happened next would be bad, but she couldn't summon her fear. It was buried beneath too much pain and the despair that she was going to die in this dark pit.

Almost tauntingly slowly, Mike's arms were raised above her head. But the device controlling the manacles' rise continued on. It pulled her from her prone position on the floor until she was kneeling, until she was standing, until she was dangling by her wrists, her bare toes just brushing the floor. Mike's shoulders screamed at her new position. She tried to adjust her position, to jeep her weight from being borne solely by her wrists. The muscles of her back tightened and released, working to ease the pain. But she was too tired. She dangled from the manacles, a line of bruised and battered flesh, unable to defend herself against whatever damage her captor chose to inflict next.

"I think you need a lesson. Like the others, you think you're better than you are. I think you need a good whipping to remind you of your place," the man teased. Mike could hear the hiss of leather as he uncoiled a whip from a peg just within her eye line. He stepped up directly behind her, his mouth pressed to her ear. "And then I'm going to fuck you. You're going to learn your place here: a stupid fucking whore just like the others." He thrust his hips against her back, his excitement evident. "Feel that?" he taunted, thrusting again. "You'll be getting some of that really soon. You'll learn. I get what I want and no stupid bitch is going to stop me." He stepped away from her, backing up a few paces. He flicked the whip, letting her hear the swish of leather against the stone floor.

Mike didn't speak. She couldn't. But the tears continued to squeeze from beneath her lids. She held her breath, anticipating the imminent pain. When the whip cracked across the skin of her back, the screams she had been holding inside were finally set loose.


	9. Chapter 9

**This is it! The last one! The end! The finale! OK, I'm pretty sure you get the picture. Here it is, folks. The last installment.**

**Thanks to Tigerlily888 for being a good sport even though I forgot to tell her I was going to torture Mike. Sorry!**

**Also, I still don't own _Criminal Minds_. But I did watch True Genius today. Then Minimal Loss was on. And now Paradise is on. I do like how I'm posting the last chapter of my little case fic on the day that the show returns this year. Nice synchronicity. But you don't actually care about that. So, onward!**

**Chapter 9  
><strong>

As the raid team approached the McHenry property, they cut their lights and sirens. They did not want to alert the unsub of their arrival. He might kill any victims he still held, including Agent Carmichael.

Team One entered the main house, breaking into pairs so as to sweep each floor more quickly. Team Two ran toward the outbuildings, splitting into two groups: one covered the barn and the other approached the shed. Team Three, the BAU team, approached Paul McHenry's studio workshop with determined stealth.

"Prentiss, you're with me. Reid, Rossi, follow us in. We'll go right, you head left. JJ, Morgan, the two of you head around back with Web & Overton. Once you're in, break into pairs. When this level is clear, we'll spread out and search any others," Hotch ordered.

They waited until they received word that the group was in place before simultaneously bursting through the doors. The lights from their flashlights bobbed through the darkness. Each pair calling clear as the studio workshop space, crowded with ugly twists of metal, was checked.

"Hotch," Emily whispered, nodding toward a stair case in the floor.

Hotch nodded and spoke quietly into his comm, "We've got stairs going down," before leading Emily down into the dark. There were short strips of fluorescent lights along the baseboards, offering just enough brilliance to see the few feet to the next light. In front of them, locked doors led off a short corridor. As his team filed down behind him, Hotch indicated the doors to them.

Rossi and Reid broke through the first door. A lone figure was restrained on the bed. She'd been beaten and was blessedly unconscious. As quickly and quietly as manageable, the men released her bonds, carrying her out of the pit. There were three other doors along the corridor before they reached another door at the end of the space. Hotch gestured to Prentiss and they pressed forward toward the door ahead as the rest of the team began checking behind the other three doors.

A sudden crack followed by a short scream filled their ears, and the pair of BAU agents, recognizing the voice, ran through the open door with weapons ready. Emily didn't think she'd ever forget the sight that met her eyes.

The walls were lined with whips, straps, chains, strips of wood, and various lengths of rope. Glass-fronted cabinets held a horrifying array of knives, pliers, pincers, and any other device that could be used to inflict pain. Toward the back of the room, a metal table gleamed dully. This terrifying room was a torturer's dream. But it was the sight less than six feet in front of her that would haunt her.

Kendall Carmichael dangled from the ceiling. Blood seeped down her arms from under a pair of manacles. Her lip was bleeding, she had a black eye, and bloody gashes littered her thighs and stomach. A blistering wound in the shape of three diamonds stood out in painful relief on her right breast. Behind Carmichael, Paul McHenry flicked a whip menacingly.

"FBI!" Hotch called out. "Put the weapon down and get on your knees!"

"You can't be here! Get the hell off my property!" McHenry raged. He dropped the whip, unsheathing a knife from his boot and holding it against Mike's back. "If you come any closer, I'll kill this worthless bitch!"

"Paul McHenry," Prentiss said, studiously avoiding looking at Mike, "put the weapon down. You're under arrest."

"I don't take orders from stupid whores!" McHenry screamed in fury. He had crouched behind Carmichael, making himself as small a target as possible, bringing his knife up to her throat. His right arm pressed painfully into the burn on her chest. Hotch could see Mike wincing in pain, but otherwise remaining as still as she could. As he watched, Mike's eyes slitted open and she suddenly slammed her head back, smashing it into McHenry's nose. The unsub stumbled back two steps, and, using the last bit of her strength, Mike jerked around, bringing her knee up into Paul McHenry's engorged groin.

McHenry shrieked and dropped the knife, collapsing on the floor and cupping himself gingerly. He whimpered pathetically as Mike glanced down at him.

"_Fuck you_," she spat at him.

Dave, Web, and Morgan rushed in behind Hotch and Emily, stopping briefly to take in the tableau. Then all of the agents rushed forward. Morgan and Dave cuffed McHenry, taking care to accidentally crush his injured groin. Hotch, Prentiss, and Web raced to Mike, attempting to unlatch the manacles.

"There's a switch… on the wall… it lowers…" she managed to pant out. Web ran to the panel, flipping each of the switches until he found the right one. As Mike was lowered to the floor, Emily held her as gently as possible. There were two strips of open flesh on her back, indicating that McHenry had struck her before they had gotten into the room.

When Mike was finally on the ground, cradled against Emily, Hotch freed her wrists. "The EMTs are on their way," he told her quietly.

"I don't want to wait down here. Please."

"I can't get you out of here without hurting you."

"Please, Agent Hotchner. Please don't make me wait down here. I have to get out of this room."

Hotch stared into her eyes, assessing her, before scooping Mike into his arms. She hissed in pain, but made no complaint as he carried her from the basement. Emily trailed behind them, Mike's grip on her hand too strong to break.

* * *

><p>Two days after her rescue, Mike was ready to go. She'd pulled out her IV and was looking for something to wear so she could make her escape. Joanie chose that moment to burst through Mike's hospital room door.<p>

"Girl," the old woman began, "you'd better get back in that bed," she warned.

"Dammit, Joanie, I want to get out of here."

"Don't you swear at me," Joanie growled as Agents Hotchner and Prentiss walked through the door. "You two, make her get back in that bed."

Hotch bit his cheek to keep from smiling, but Prentiss didn't bother to conceal her grin. "Agent Carmichael, have you been released?" Hotch inquired. Behind him, Emily continued to grin at the wrinkled old woman glowering at Mike. The young woman flopped back on the bed with a sigh of disgust.

"Hmph," Joanie snorted. "Since these two can keep an eye on you, I'm going to find your doctor and see what's going on." As she stepped out the door, Joanie turned back and glared at Hotch, "Don't let her out of that bed." With one last look at Mike, Joanie departed, shutting the door behind her.

There was a brief silence while Hotch and Prentiss assessed Mike's condition. "Can you tell me what's happened?" Mike asked.

"There were two other women rescued when we raided the McHenry property. A third woman was found dead in a room in the house. Mallory Butler and Rachel Riley are being treated for their injuries. Mallory is currently in a coma, but the doctor's are hopeful. Rachel should be released in a week or so," Hotch informed her.

"What else did you find?" Mike knew that wasn't all they would have found.

"There was a freezer in the house. It held 47 patches of skin. It appears that when McHenry finished with his victims, he cut the brand from them. We're currently helping local law enforcement match each with known victims."

"McHenry is cooperating?"

"Yes," Emily told her. "The state AG has agreed to take the death penalty off the table in exchange for a full confession, including the names and disposal sites of the victims we don't know about."

"How did this all start?" Mike needed to know.

Hotch answered her, "Paul McHenry was a reasonably intelligent young man whose parents indulged him. In his mind, his will and his desires were supreme. And then his younger sister, the truly gifted one in the family, hit high school and she began to eclipse her brother. Paul couldn't deal with the jealousy or his need to be the dominant personality, to control things and get his own way.

"Ten years ago, he kidnapped his sister, keeping her in a modified cell in the basement of his studio workshop. He held her there for nearly two years, torturing her, showing her who was the better sibling. And then his parents died. The terms of the will set him off. He had stayed behind while she had disappeared, and their parents had still waited for her to come home and assume her place in the family. In a complete rage, he strangled her to death, discovering an even stronger release when he choked the life out of her. He kept her body in the freezer."

When Hotch paused, Emily continued, recognizing Mike's need to know as much as possible. "McHenry took his next victim not long after. He began branding his victims, marking them as his. They no longer had names or any identity except as his property. He kept the women, dominating them until he could no longer get a release from them. Then he would kill that victim. He kept the brand as a trophy, as a reminder of his ownership and domination of each victim."

"How did Peterson discover McHenry's link?"

Hotch looked grim, "He didn't. He discovered the disappearance of McHenry's sister – a young, pretty woman with light brown hair – and assumed that her disappearance was connected with the others. He was just planning to interview McHenry, looking for information to link Sarah Gayle's disappearance to this case. McHenry believed Peterson had discovered his secret and saw Peterson's questioning as a challenge to his dominance."

"McHenry knocked him unconscious, took him down to the basement and tortured him. That's how he found out about you and your involvement in putting the case together," Emily explained.

Mike absorbed this news silently, nodding and looking away from the pair of dark eyes watching her so closely.

Emily looked over at Hotch, nodding toward Mike and raising an eyebrow. Hotch picked up the cue. "There is something I need to discuss with you, Agent Carmichael," he said sternly.

Mike's attention snapped back to Hotch, her eyes darted briefly to Prentiss, seeking some clue as to what was happening. Emily just gazed back, not giving anything away.

"You applied for the open pool agent position at the BAU," Hotch said.

"Yes, sir."

"You are aware that your unit chief didn't sign off on the transfer request."

Mike's shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir, I am."

"I need your unit chief's approval for the transfer. However, given the extraordinary work you've done on this case, I've made some calls and requested that the requirement of your unit chief's approval be waived."

Mike's lips parted as if she meant to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, she let loose an unsteady breath at Hotch's words.

"Your physician has told me that, barring infection, you will be released in two days. My team is remaining her at least that long to help the local field office and law enforcement personnel finish going through McHenry's home and identify the remaining victims. When we leave for Quantico, I expect you to be with us."

Mike still couldn't make a sound. She glanced over at Emily, who was smiling broadly at her. Emily gave the younger agent an encouraging nod.

"That is, if you're still interested in the position, Agent Carmichael," Hotch said when Mike didn't respond.

"Yes. I mean, yes, sir. I am. Interested in the position," Mike stuttered.

"Good," Hotch replied, moving toward the door. "You'll be assigned to desk duty until your physician clears you for field work. I'll see you on the jet."

"Can you give me a minute, Hotch?" Prentiss requested.

Hotch gave her a long look then nodded and left the two women alone. Mike still looked stunned and Emily smiled over at her before sobering. "How are you really?" she asked.

Mike didn't pretend not to know what she was asking. "OK, I guess. I'm still a little numb."

"Have the nightmares started?"

"Yes," Mike admitted, unconsciously fingering the bandage covering the burn on her chest.

Emily paused, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "You're an exceptional agent, Mike. I think you're going to be an excellent addition to the BAU, and I'm looking forward to working with you. You might have more questions than even Reid can answer. But you're not out of the woods yet. And I think you're smart enough to know that. The Bureau will offer you counseling to help you cope with what happened. Take it. If you want to keep doing this job, you're going to need to deal with the trauma of being kidnapped. And when you're ready, I'm available to talk. About anything, any time," Emily promised as she headed for the door.

"Agent Prentiss?" Mike called to her softly. When Prentiss looked back at her, Mike met her eye. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's Emily. And you're welcome. I'll see you on the jet."

* * *

><p><strong><em>FIN<em>**

**There you have it. I hope you've enjoyed this! Let me know what you think when you get the chance.**


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